Meadowlark Prairie staring down the blind man

The moment Riddle decided to mosey on his way, he saw that the does had stopped their grazing and were staring straight ahead. Not a himself, mind you—but something near, which come to think of it was moving haphazardly through the grass. There was the click-snap of hooves maybe, or teeth? Teeth, most definitely. The grass gave way to a white shape with a fulvous glower upon its face.

The stranger's arrival was heralded by an eruption of tits; they spasmed in the air, with some landing among the branches of the hawthorn. When the pale face spoke, it was with a mien of defeat, and a warning.

Fine with me. Riddle replied. Rather like my skin, personally.

The quiet returned, but if Riddle had looked for the does he would've realized they'd fled with the arrival of this second wolf. Oh, well. He'd cotton on to that eventually. The stranger was much more interesting.

You the local spirit-minder? You look like you've seen—somethin', at any rate.